


Scorched Lungs

by Holymotherofmerlin



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Eventual Fluff, Fire, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M, Murder, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, only a little bit, theres a lot of murder, theres also a lot of fire, theres just a lot of everything really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-04 19:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holymotherofmerlin/pseuds/Holymotherofmerlin





	1. Chapter 1

The sharp streaks of orange light protruding from the street lights contrasted against the dirty grey stones of the alleys walls, the light ricocheted off a flash of metal usually concealed beneath the beige fabric of trench coat, C.C Tinsley let out a deep breath before adjusting his red scarf to cover his mouth, the pointed tip of his nose slightly rosy from the cold Chicago night.

The body he’d been shadowing wrenched open a peeling warehouse door, cursing at the grating noise made as the sliding mechanism did its job before the faint blue of his suit jacket faded into the dark. Tinsley rolled the barrel of his revolver back into place, the usual part of his mind hoping he wouldn’t have to use it, with the sound of it clicking back into place he pushed away from the wall he had been leaning on, using the shadows to hide his long frame. Purposefully trying to silence the sounds of his shoes against the worn cobbled ground he approached the warehouse door, still slightly open so the current occupier would be able to leave much easier than he’d arrived. Practically everyone knew this particular mob used the older areas of the city to do their business, importing prohibited items like alcohol, hiding them amongst the decaying buildings before selling their ‘product’ in secret to anyone who had the money. Tinsley wasn’t particularly bothered by that, he’d drink bourbon on an hourly basis if he could the way life was going, but he wasn’t here to arrest smugglers. He was here for something else.

His face hardened as his thin frame slipped through the opening, his eyes adjusted to what little light there was, the interior of the warehouse lit by nothing but the light of the moon coming through the cracked windows above boarded up delivery doors and a singular oil lamp resting on a metal table with two rickety chairs either side of it, a few wrappers and burnt out cigarettes lay on the table as well as a notepad. Upon inspection the page the notepad was open had a few lines of letters and numbers, clearly a code, other than that it was just a back and forth of insults and a few doodles, none of which had any artistic skill to them. Tinsley let out a slight huff of laughter at the doodle of a man with three butt cheeks, he supposed standing watch in an old warehouse deep into the hours of the morning would be pretty boring. The wind whistled through the building, the cold practically radiating from the stone floor and if Tinsley wasn’t already huddled in layers, he’d have cursed himself for not bringing more. The sound of a stray piece of paper scarping against the ground made an alarm go off in the detective’s head. It was quiet, too quiet. Which begged the question; where did his mobster go?

The feeling of metal piercing his lower back had him gritting his teeth, mentally cursing himself for not paying proper attention. Some detective he was.

“Real subtle, slick” A voice teased, twisting the blade slightly “How would I have ever noticed fucking Goliath tailing me since the bar”

“In my defense,” Tinsley breathed out calmly “I’d been following since long before the bar, Bergara”

Ryan ‘Night Night’ Bergara let out a snarl behind him, ripping his blade from the detectives flesh and reeling back for another stab, Tinsley turned around sharply Bergara’s knife catching the arm of his coat, luckily cutting the fabric, not hitting deep enough to cut his flesh. Night Night let out a feral, frustrated noise, once again going for the stab, the force of him lunge getting knocked away by the solid punch Tinsley landed on his jaw, the taller man taking his moment of shock to back up, putting some distance between the two of them

“I’m going to fucking gut you, pig!” Bergara growled smoothing down his hair with a free hand then breaking off into a sprint towards the detective, his eyes glinting in manic rage that was only further fueled by Tinsley impassive look, his hand going to reach for the revolver hanging in the holster around his chest. Before he could grasp the grip, a sharp line of forearm pressed against his neck, pulling him back against their body with a choking force, Bergara still coming at him knife at the ready. Tinsley wheezed out a breath, resisting the urge to cough instead bringing his head forward before jerking it back, cracking the back of his head against his captors’ face, the man letting out a grunt of pin as his hands instantly and thoughtlessly flew to his nose. As the man backed away Tinsley took himself out of Bergaras path, not having the time to find out who Bergaras partner was, instead acting on instinct putting the man a similar height to his own in a headlock, gabbing his revolver from his holster and pressing the barrel to the mans’ head, Night Night instantly came to halt, his shoes making a skidding sounds against the stone floor making the brief silence that followed all the more piercing.

“Well, I’ll be damned” Tinsley scoffed, looking down at the man he had in a headlock “Shane fucking Madej”

“Tinsley?” Shanes voice heightened in surprise “I thought you retired”

“Tinsley? As in C.C Tinsley?” Bergara eyes widened, the knife still grasped tightly in his hand “Why the fuck do you know C.C Tinsley, Legs?”

Tinsley chuckled

“Shane ‘Legs’ Madej?” he looked down at Shane who looked away from him with mild embarrassment, well, looked away as much as he could in his current position “At least it’s better than ‘Night Night’ Bergara”

Bergara let out an angry snarl, Tinsley digging the barrel into Madej’s temple harder at the sound.

With the checkmate set, the negation could begin. Bergara decided he was going first;

“So, what does The Immortal C.C Tinsley want with two humble mobsters like us?” Bergara ground out, Tinsley let his thin lips quirk up slightly

“As lovely as you both are, its not the two of you I want” Tinsley hummed “But its what you might now that interests me. Here’s the deal, answers me questions and ‘Legs’ will still have brains in that big head of his”

Bergara’s eyes flitted down to Madejs and instantly Tinsley knew he hit a nerve. Good, he could work with that.

“Why don’t you tell him what happened to Brent, eh, ‘Legs’?” Tinsley teased, letting his teeth show as he broke out into a grin, slipping into his new role like it were a new pair of gloves. He felt Madej’s jaw tense, felt the movement of his throat as he swallowed

“He wouldn’t answer Tinsley’s questions” Madej gritted his teeth, avoiding Bergaras worried gaze “Thought he’d just pretend he didn’t know anything, that they’d just let him go…”

“That didn’t happen though, did it?” Madej shook his head in response, Bergara’s fingers flexed against the handle of the blade, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed “Tell him what happened to Brent.”

“Stop.” Bergara demanded, his voice bordering on shaky “Just stop. Just ask me what you want.”

“How considerate” Tinsley said in a mockingly sweet voice, his smile dropped immediately now that it was time to get back down to the real business. He thought about reaching to get the photograph from his back pocket, if he did he’d either have to put away the gun or let go of Madej, either way it’d take away whatever power he’d gained now. He instructed Madej to fish the picture out for him, silently hoping the picture wouldn’t have any of the blood dripping down from stab wound on his back, he had Madej hold the picture up “Recognize any of the people in this picture?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know, man, their just kids!”

“Exactly!” Tinsley barked, both Bergara and Madej jumping at his sudden raise in volume “Maurice, Martha, Louis, Jennie and Betty. Do you recognize any of them!”

“We don’t know anything about the Sodders!”

“I never mentioned the Sodders” Bergara’s mouth snapped shut as he realized what he’d done “Tell me where the Sodder children are.”

“W-We don’t know” Tinsley cocked the gun against Madejs head who cringed at the sound “I’m serious, man! No one told us anything about the kids”

“The tell me who does” Tinsley hissed, the two fell silent as Madej and Bergara made eye contact, the smaller of the two shaking his head, a sudden air much more deadly the Tinsley falling over them. Madej let out a shuddered breath

“The Isdal woman” He sighed “If you find the Isdal Woman, she’ll lead you to the Sodder children”.

Tinsley took a moment to allow the information to sink in. Legs and Night Night know about the Sodders but didn’t know them, which meant their bosses probably knew and either didn’t feel the need to tell them or they didn’t trust them enough to tell them, probably the latter. Whatever they knew the mob in Chicago weren’t to blame, whether they were in on it or not didn’t really matter anymore so long as they weren’t the actual perps Tinsley couldn’t bring himself to care.

Holly might know something about this Isdal Woman, that lady knew everything. Tinsley rolled his shoulders, letting them relax after the time spent tensing his muscles to make himself appear broader than he really was, he felt Madej relax slightly in his arms. He put moved his finger to the trigger, Bergara’s face dropping in horror, his body bracing itself for the bang. It never came. The empty revolver clicked against Madej’s temple, who sighed in relief, Tinsley letting him slip away

“You tricked me”

“I wouldn’t tell your boss about this if I were you” Tinsley said flippantly, shucking his hands in his pockets as he simply turned to the warehouses still open door, confident that neither men would try and jump him again “Probably keep the hole thing hush hush, next persons barrel might not be empty”

He didn’t wait around to hear what the guys said.

As he stood under the streetlight where he started, looking about at the light as a moth danced around the glass, tapping against it blindly, Tinsley frowned up at it. He couldn’t really judge it too badly, after all here he was trying to shatter the glass and bring back the flames, a cough wracked his body, cutting off wherever his train of thought was going. The cough made his eyes water so he rubbed at them with the back of his hand, moving the scarf back to cover his mouth and nose, he should really get going.

The cold would do nothing for him yet.

\------------------------

The low hum of the radio really was the highlight of Ricky’s night, just the slow, lazy drawl of a tune he could enjoy while laid back at his drink, his head tilted back against the leather of his chair, sometimes singing along if he was in a particularly good mood.

Just because here was a dead body in his office didn’t mean it would ruin his night. In fact, it made the night perfect.

The lifeless lady was crumpled on his office floor, her skin pale and bloodless, what was once coursing through her veins now covering the sides of Ricky’s face and corners of his mouth, his sticky fingers tapping away the ash of his cigarette. As soon as he’d met…whatever her name was, he knew she wasn’t going to last. Sometimes his food took his interest, maybe they’d go out a couple times, playful flirt or even fuck if Ricky felt like it but then there were people like her who were just boring basic meat-bags with little to say and frankly very little to do with their short, uninteresting lives. She didn’t even scream, maybe she was so shocked or maybe she just didn’t want to fight it, either or her lack of struggle meant Ricky’s rug didn’t get stained which he grateful for. He really liked that rug.

A knock at his door ruined his peace and quiet

“What?” He rolled his eyes, his voice coming out harsher than he meant it to. The Mayor poked his head around the door, his eyes immediately drawn to the lady on the floor

“I see you’ve already eaten” Ricky met his eyes, raising an eyebrow “Maizy has a message for you”

Ricky groaned; he hated that fucking hick of a woman. She would saunter up to him in public every so often, talking like they were friends, telling him about her little ‘friends’ in Chicago and most of all her fucking ‘visions’. Some visions they were, always amounting to nothing or leading Ricky on wild goose chases that only made him hate her even more. He’d kill her one of these days.

“What is it this time, Mayor?” He sighed, going to rub his temples but deciding against it once he realized he’d just be rubbing more blood on his face, the Mayor came in, closing the door behind him

“She said she saw a man, a man under a streetlight. He had blood on him”

“I’ve done that before” Ricky scoffed

“She says she’s seen him the news before” The Mayor continued “His name is C.C Tinsley, they say he’s immortal”

Ricky sat up in his chair, his shoulders tensing, he and The Mayor kept eye contact, both their eyes cold

“Is he one of us?” Ricky asked, folding his hands together

“I don’t know, sir. But I suggest we keep an eye out, by the sounds of it he’s coming our way”

Ricky let a smile slip onto his face, light catching the sharp lines of his teeth still stained slightly pink.

“Let him come” He chuckled darkly, turning his chair away from The Mayor, looking up at the family portrait that had been hung above the same fireplace it had been since the day the house was built, where it would always remain “Let him come and we’ll see how immortal this C.C Tinsley really is”.


	2. Chapter 2

The Goldsworths had been a very prestigious family for a very long time, they had originated from Italy making a great deal of money from the various exploits over the years and everything was perfect, for a while at least. It wasn’t until a certain family member came down with a mysterious illness that Italy was no longer the best place for them to live. There was far too much sunlight, far too many Catholics and definitely too much garlic. With that they left Italy and changed the family name, thus the Goldsworths were born, not that any Goldsworth had actually been technically born since but appearances were very important to the public so every so often a new Goldsworth had to be put forth into the world.

The portrait of the Goldsworth family, painted many, many years ago hung above stone fireplace, the faint glow standing out against the dark oil paint, Ricky held eye contact with his own painted face trying to see if he could find any flaws or anything that might have changed over time, there was nothing.

The loud ringing of the phone on his desk broke him from his stupor, he rolled his eyes as he drifted over to the machine. Fluidly he picked up the phone, knowing instantly who would be on the other end

“Hello?”

“A-Ah sorry to bother you Mr. Goldsworth” The nervous voice on the other ended said awkwardly “I know its late, I hope you weren’t sleeping”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. McClintock” Ricky replied as he picked out the blood from beneath his fingernails, the happy tone of his voice not matching the bored look on his face “I was just working late, what can I help with?”

“Well we just picked up a body and its been floating around that the Doe was last seen with you” He was clearly trying to choose his words carefully “Nothing concrete but its procedure”

“I see, I’ll pop down to the station. Might as well get it over with”

“Thank you, Mr. Goldsworth! Once again, Sorry to bother you” Ricky gave him a vague noise in response and with that the line went dead.

With a sigh he leant over the desk to grab his crimson red tie, tossing it around his shoulders as he made his way out the office, deciding to forgo his suit jacket instead buttoning up the slate grey waistcoat, just to make Banjo think he’d inconvenienced him more than he really had. Truth be told, he quite liked Banjo. The man was tall but held himself with very little confidence, his personality was sweet but skittish and he did his job to the best of his ability, he seemed t genuinely care about the town and all of its residents, the Goldsworths included. If he had a bit more of a spine Ricky wouldn’t mind adding him to the family but numerous discussions with his mother meant Banjo McClintock would never be one of them, it made Ricky moderately upset. He could live with Banjo dying but he certainly didn’t prefer it.

He had decided to walk the short distance from his home to the police station, it was really wasn’t worth disrupting The Mayor from his business, the both of them usually got such little time to themselves that a nice solitary walk would be quite welcome. The streets were barren of human life at this hour, even the usual drunks that would wander about had no doubt made their way home by now or passed out in an alley somewhere, their simple night lights either the glow of streetlights or the faint light of the moon. Ricky took a deep breath, letting the cold air settle in his lungs, any other person would be wary of catching a cold, the cold had a way of making Ricky feel alive. The cold showed no sign of letting up anytime soon, they were in for a few more months of bleak cold, at least if there was snow the children of the town could enjoy it but this cold was just bland, no joy could be taken away from the kind of cold that permeated the entirety of the town possibly further.

A lone streetlight stood outside the police station, Ricky stopped beneath it, gazing up at the light. A moth threw itself against the glass desperate to get to the shine behind it, his mind drifted back to what the Mayor had said about Maizys vision. A man covered in blood standing underneath a streetlight, the immortal C.C Tinsley. Where was he from? Why would he come here? He hoped it wouldn’t lead to a territory war, he hated those.

The door to the police station creaked open, Banjo’s head poking out, a nervous, welcoming smile partially hidden by his bushy moustache. Ricky turned to him, giving him the most charming smile he could muster as he strode towards the door, Banjo holding the door open for him, the warmth from within the station washing over him

“Good evening, Banjo”

“Evening, Mr. Goldsworth, I hope you weren’t too busy when I called” Banjo nervously tugged at his tie as he spoke, the rest of the small police force bustling around them didn’t even blink in their direction, too caught up in their own work to care

“No, no, I wasn’t busy at all. I was just settling down for the night” Ricky responded, watching the slight panic grow in the other man’s eyes. Christ, he was too nervous for his own good “Don’t worry, Banjo, I’m perfectly fine with being here but I would like this to be over with as soon as possible”

Banjo nodded in response, leading him to towards the morgue, making basic chatter about the horrid weather and such. Ricky tried to pay attention to it. The inside of the morgue was almost as cold as the weather outside, the ceramic slabs as white as snow and the sickly sterile smell of disinfectant permeated the air, the smell made the back of Ricky’s throat burn slightly, Banjo seemingly unbothered and probably used to the morgues smell. A lone body lay covered by a white sheet, the figure looking like a child hiding underneath a blanket, thinking they were practically invisible to the world around them. Ricky didn’t need to lift the blanket to know who the body was, but he had to look anyway, for appearances. Banjo pulled the sheet back from over her face, he might as well not have, her bloodless, pale skin practically matched the white of the sheet the only contrast the dark red of the muscle and flesh inside of her throat, it had been cut down to the bone the gore marring her, hiding any trace of something that could be amiss or raise any unsavory questions. All Ricky could care about was that they closed her eyes, a subtle show of human empathy and he wondered if it was Banjo or the mortician who had done it. They’d taken off her red lipstick, her lips much thinner without it, Ricky couldn’t help but think he’d never have found her attractive without it and he certainly didn’t find her attractive now

“Did you know her?” Banjo’s voice broke through his haze, his voice echoing slightly. Ricky spent another minute looking over her body, tracing the details of her face, trying to give off the illusion of thought. In retrospect he realized he couldn’t honestly say he knew her even if he wanted to, he had known where she worked, where she lived, he even knew her blood type but as he gazed down at her lax, emotionless face he couldn’t even remember what her name was.

“Can’t say I do” He responded, tearing his gaze away from her to look at Banjo, giving him a sympathetic smile “I think she served me a few times at the diner but that’s all I can recall”

Banjos mouth pressed into a straight line, he looked down at his feet for a moment before reaching over rand pulling the sheets back over her

“I’m sorry you had to see this” He apologized, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly “Before you go, I’ll need to take a statement. I don’t mean to bother you but- “

“Its protocol. I know” Ricky cut him off, running a hand across his face, trying to convey tiredness “Let’s get it over with, shall we?”

A curt nod was Banjos response, him lading as the two of them walked back to the door that lead back into the rest of the station, back into the warmth of the living and away from the cold of the dead, for one of them at least. Ricky spared a final glance back at the womans body, his mild mildly perturbed at the complete nothingness he felt while staring down her corpse, the cold of the room felt like nothing compared to the cold that lay deep within, Ricky scowled at his feelings, turning away from her for the final time, letting himself slip through the door as began to close. He knew he’d be the last person to see her, both alive and dead, he considered sending flower to her funeral when it came, the sentiment would mean nothing.

The questioning was short affair, Ricky recounting where he had been throughout the night, to which he claimed to have been home all evening, his mother and The Mayor would confirm his alibi even if it was false although he knew they would never actually follow up on any of his claims. None of them wanted to potentially face his mother’s wrath. It was all wrapped up fairly quickly, the officer lying through his teeth when he said they’d be in contact with him soon, Ricky gave him a quick smile as he left, Banjo waiting for him outside the station

“Thought I’d offer you a lift home, since I dragged you out here so late” Banjo said blowing into his hands to warm them ever so slightly, Ricky gave him a genuine smile, he really did appreciate Banjo

“Much appreciated, Banjo” The short walk to the car was filled with more of Banjos idle talk, just like the drive home would be as well, Ricky adding to the conversation every now and then to make it seem like he was paying attention. Banjo’s car wasn’t particularly flashy, not like any of the cars the Goldsworths owned, but it got the man around even if he had to sort of fold his six foot of limbs to sit comfortably inside (Ricky was very much NOT jealous of the man’s height) he tended to keep the radio on while he drove even though he would chatter over it, it made following the conversation very hard sometimes. As Ricky watched Banjo’s mouth move, barely hearing the words over the music, when a thought occurred;

“Banjo?” the man in question hummed in response “You wouldn’t know anything about a man called C.C Tinsley, would you?”

“Oh yeah, heard about him on the news, did you?” Banjo chuckled, Ricky nodded neither confirming nor denying whether that’s how he learned of Tinsley “As an Officer I gotta admit, he’s a hell of a detective. Sucks that he retired, though, I’d be ready to call him up and have a look at these murders if he weren’t”

“Shame.” Ricky simply said in response. He had a terrible feeling that C.C Tinsley might end up looking into the murders like Banjo hoped, retirement or not. Ricky sighed, crossing his arms and leaning his head back against cars seat, hoping he could play it off as tiredness he let his mind race. He had hoped he wouldn’t have had to but he knew he’d have to tell his mother about this and god bless any man who crossed Lucy Goldsworth and her son.

\-------------------------------------------

Tinley grunted as he sat down on the rickety bed in his hotel room, the fresh stitches tugging at the movement. Stitching up a stab wound located on the small of his back had been a bitch to do without help but with a mirror and the right amount of time a dedication, he’d got it done. He sniffed, already dreading the cold he’d clearly caught and how it was going to hinder him on this case. Sickness or not, the case had to be closed. A quick look in the mirror had seemingly tired him out instantly, the bags under his eyes reminding him he hadn’t slept in three days and the length of his beard reminding him he hadn’t shaved in longer. He’d tossed off his coat before he’d sat down, the blood on it had coagulated, leaving a murky spot on the fabric although at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care about it. He tugged off his scarf, hanging it over the bedpost at the head of the bed, running a hand through his mop of hair.

His thought drifted to the Isdal woman, whoever she was. Part of him hoped she would give him what he needed, and the case could simply be open and shut, the more rational part knew this wouldn’t be the case. For all he knew she could end up sending him on another wild goose chase, he’d been on far too many of those already. Every lead just pointed him to someone else, the blame shifting with every person he questioned. Time was of the essence, he wouldn’t afford to chase every loose end he came across, the notes he’d once kept for the case were no longer in his possession all he had to rely on was his own memory and that of other people. The whole thing was so exhausting.

The phone on the bedside table called to him, a familiar series of numbers practically screaming his name. His fingers itched to reach out for it, he knew he shouldn’t, but he had to. In case he would suddenly change his mind, he snatched up the phone, pointer finger hovering over the dial. Putting in the number was like second nature, the ringing was the part the put him on edge, his thundering heart almost overwhelming the ringing. Lifting his free hands to his mouth he began to bite at his nails, if only to give his raw bitten bottom lip a break, before he could be scared away a voice came from the other end

“Holly Horsely speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hello, Holly” He choked out, hearing th stutter of Holl’ys breath on the other end “I guess you weren’t expecting me”

“N-no. I really wasn’t” Her voice sounded strained and Tinsley couldn’t find it his heart to feel sorry for her

“So, ‘retired’, am I?” He spat out, the nerves from before gone and now overtook by seething anger “Hell of a retirement”

“Charles- “

“Don’t. Don’t call me that, only my friends get to call me that”

“Look…Tinsley, I’m sorry, I really am” She said sounding shakier than before “But you can’t keep doing this. You’re putting everyone around you in harms way, you aren’t helping yourself either”

“I didn’t call you to talk about me” Tinsley snapped, he let out a sigh, scratching at his beard “Tell me anything and everything you know about The Isdal Woman”

“You know I can’t. Its confidential”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before” His tone made her stop, the only sound exchanged was the sound of their breathing and the sound of the radio in Hollys apartment “You owe me, Horsely”

A bitter silence followed until Holly et out a shaky breath

“Fine, I’ll tell you what I know” She sounded older, like the conversation had aged her or maybe she just had aged since last Tinsley had spoken to her, he couldn’t remember when that had been. His timeline had become hazy, the time between then and now nothing but half remembered dreams with only the occasional stab of reality coming through every now and again. None of that mattered any more, the only thing that mattered was the case and right now The Isdal Woman was all he had “But Tinsley?”

“What?”

“Promise me that when its over, you’ll go back”

He swallowed

“I will” The lie slid through his teeth like it was nothing. Nothing would make him go back, not Holly, not anything. He’d made up his mind a while ago, as soon as the case was over and buried, he would be too.


End file.
